


Bruce's Raging Cold

by klose



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Gen, Male Bonding, Prompt Fic, Sick Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 15:54:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klose/pseuds/klose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce has been felled by sickness, and it's up to Dick to take care of his partner.</p><p>(Also Known As: "Bat-Flu, or: How Bruce Learned to Stop Worrying and Listen to his Robin".)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bruce's Raging Cold

**Author's Note:**

> I asked for prompts and Tabithian kindly suggested a sick fic where Dick has to make Bruce rest. The prompt sort of got away from me a bit, but I think (hope) the jist of it is there. :P

"I'm going out on patrol," Batman growls. 

The intended effect of Robin cowering in fear is lost as his words are punctuated by a coughing fit. (Never mind that Robin never actually cowers at anything Batman says. Sickness allows Bruce a measure of plausible deniability, if nothing else.)

"That's quite a cough you've got there, big guy." Dick's indulgent grin would be more appropriate as bestowed by guardian to ward rather than the reverse, not that Bruce ever smiles at anyone indulgently. “I bet Penguin's goons will be terrified.”

"Indeed, Master Dick." 

Note to self: find a new, non-treacherous butler. One that won't ply him with herbal tonics that look like liquified death. Before that, however —

"It's not too late for me to send you back to the circus, _chum_ ," Bruce threatens, downing the vile concoction in one go. He'd swear on the Batmobile that Alfred deliberately makes it taste that unpleasant.

Dick's eyes widen too much for it to be anything nearing a serious expression. "Oh no! You would never do that, would you, Mr. Wayne? I couldn't leave poor Alfred all alone with you here."

That earns him a patented Bat-glare, but Dick only laughs. What is it with this kid? It's all jokes all the time, no fear whatsoever of Batman and a patience for Bruce's moods that's outmatched only by Alfred. It's easy to forget he's barely seventeen.

... Though maybe not so much at that very moment.

The sudden dripping of Bruce's nose disrupts his line of thought, and a handkerchief is helpfully handed over by his impertinently smirking ward. When that's dealt with, Bruce turns to Alfred.

"Send a note to Lucius." He is most certainly not wheezing. Absolutely not. "Tell him to have Jones from Accounting transferred to Organisational Excellence." Wayne Enterprises doesn't have any deadbeat departments, but the latter is certainly close.

"Why? Because he sneezed on you? Jeez, Bruce." Dick's laughing at him. Brat.

"Anyone with such poor sense of hygiene and etiquette should be disciplined," Bruce says through gritted teeth, though it doesn't merit any response.

"It doesn't matter that Poison Ivy more likely to blame? And that cocktail of stuff she hit you with?"

'Stuff' containing immune-suppressants and the most common allergens, but Bruce doesn't figure Dick would be so nonchalant if he was the one dripping mucus out of multiple orifices. But years of circus-travel have strengthened the kid's natural immunity, and he's a picture of health, all pink-cheeked and bright-eyed. Bruce glares at him again.

Except Dick isn't smiling anymore. "Bruce, come on."

It's occurs to Bruce that it's the same expression he wore the week before while soothing a toddler whom Batman and Robin had rescued from Killer Croc. Not a good comparison, whichever way you look at it.

As much as it galls him, Bruce Wayne, Batman, master of mind and body who never gets sick, ever — he has to acknowledge that it's time to concede the game.

If not necessarily the match.

"Fine. Batman and Robin will stay in for the night."

"I can patrol by myself!" Dick protests.

"Not without back-up." That Robin has proven time and again his ability to handle most dangers thrown at him is beside the point.

"I'll call Batgirl, then."

All those teenage hormones together, getting acrobatic and falling into tight situations without adult supervision? Bruce may not have much experience with this parenting business, but —

"No."

"How about your friend in the Justice League — Superman?"

Clark is Bruce's closest ally in the League, and he's hardly likely to mind helping out for a night. But Dick's admiration of the alien is too glowing to be appropriate. After all, Robin is Batman's partner, not Superman's. Jealousy has nothing to do with it. (What's so great about X-ray vision, anyway?)

"No."

Dick frowns. It's a strange expression on his face, and doesn't suit him well, but it doesn't linger for very long before being shrugged off, either.

"Okay," he agrees. "I'll just stay here and take care of you. Partners stick together, right? And it'll give Alfred a break."

That grin is positively devious, and Bruce realises just how much his flu-addled brain has miscalculated. The boy has learned from him, after all, and he's learned well.

Alfred places a refilled glass of tonic in Bruce's hand.

"Very good, sirs," he says. His placid tone informs Bruce that he's lost the match, too.

\----

"Aw, when was the last time you watched a movie?"

Bruce doesn't deign to answer that, and instead chooses to blow his nose. Loudly.

But Dick persists, and isn't it enough that the kid's invaded his sick bed wearing Superman pyjamas? Did Bruce ever try Alfred's patience this hard?

"The last time I watched a movie was with my parents," he says shortly, taking a long drink of Alfred's medicinal tea. It is even less pleasant than the tonic, and if Bruce doesn't know better, he'd say it's payback for all the grief he's caused Alfred over the years.

"With your — oh." Dick nods sagely. Pauses a beat, and then: "Mom always liked hitting up the cinema in whatever town we found ourselves in, usually the matinee, on our day off. Then we'd go out for dinner after. It was nice having time alone, away from the circus... together as a family."

His expression turns a little wistful, a lot like the wringing in Bruce's chest. "We didn't get the chance when we came to Gotham."

"I'll leave you to your rest," Dick adds abruptly, before Bruce has a chance to respond. Slides off the bed where he's been lying at its' foot, on his stomach, flipping through television channels.

Bruce sucks in a ragged breath. Perhaps it's the flu talkng, but — it won't cost him anything to do this. For his Robin. Maybe for himself, too.

"Wait. Dick." The sore throat has roughened his voice. He clears it once, twice, before continuing. "Let's... watch it together. That film you suggested." What was it called? " _Fight Club._ "

It's not like he hasn't seen Dick smile before — the boy laughs a lot, if nothing else — but there's something gentle and understanding in the way his mouth curves up right then. It reminds Bruce of the young man he first saw at the circus, flipping and flying like he was born for it. Graceful and completely dauntless.

He's the only one who can coax an actual smile out of the Batman, at any rate, even if it usually turns out as more of a grimace. As it does now. But Dick's own smile widens; he knows Bruce well enough to take it for what it is.

The moment passes, soon enough, and Dick cartwheels over to the bedside table to pour out another cup of tea for Bruce. "Hold tight, B, I'll replenish our supplies before we start."

This involves Dick disappearing for a whole half-hour, during which Bruce manages a power nap. Alfred's tonic and tea must have helped, because the world is spinning a little less when he wakes up. Moving is still more difficult than it ought to be, and his throat's no less dry, but Dick returns before it gets too uncomfortable. The boy's armed with a steaming, industrial-sized teapot, a small tureen of what smells like chicken noodle soup, a fresh banana bag, lozenges, tissues, a hot-pack, and a big bowl of buttery popcorn.

"Oops, that's for me," Dick says, snatching the last away from Bruce's reaching fingers. He settles on the foot of the bed again, ignoring his mentor's grunt of protest.

"Roll it, boss!"

"Hh."

\----

There is a very brief conversation when the end credits come on:

"Robin."

"Yeah?"

"We should do this more often."

"Get you sick?"

"No. This."

"Oh! Holy movie nights, Batman! You got it."

 

**Author's Note:**

> And so Batfamily Movie Night was on. The next month saw Bruce and Dick adjourn to the TV room, where they were joined by Alfred. Some Man Chairs were also acquired. They watched _Heat_ \-- Bruce's choice. (The month after that was Monty Python's _Life of Brian_ , as picked by Alf. :P)
> 
> The title is a (crappy) reference to _Fight Club_.


End file.
